


Will someone tell me who I was before?

by kaleidoscopeminds



Series: Sad Luke [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Freeform, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, References to Depression, a tiny tiny stream of conciousness, i wasn't going to post this here but for completeness I'll transfer it over, like... serious angst, might become a lil series?? we will see, the lashton is kind of in passing, this is saved in my docs as sad luke fic so take that for what you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidoscopeminds/pseuds/kaleidoscopeminds
Summary: Luke flexes his fingers around his glass and tips his head back to look at the ceiling, letting the lights flash around him, burning his eyes as he forces himself to keep them open, but he still feels like they’re not as bright as he wants them to be, not bright enough to sting as much as he yearns for them to.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: Sad Luke [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917142
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Will someone tell me who I was before?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny thing about being sad. Warnings: sad. Lots of feelings, none of them good.

Luke flexes his fingers around his glass and tips his head back to look at the ceiling, letting the lights flash around him, burning his eyes as he forces himself to keep them open, but he still feels like they’re not as bright as he wants them to be, not bright enough to sting as much as he yearns for them to. The cold drink in his hand seeps its numbness into his fingers and through his veins, condensation dripping off his wrist onto his jeans, but he feels like it’s not cold enough, the palms of his hands not numb enough. Not enough, never enough.

He abruptly squeezes his eyes closed but can still feel the flashing, the burning in his nose and the pumping of his thick, viscid blood around his body, driven only by the push and pull of his heart working overtime and never stopping, whether he wants it to or not.

Luke breathes deeply, feeling as if he’s in a constant dichotomy with his own body and brain, on some days like he’s trapped, bundled and bound in skin that’s been made too small for him, that he’s been roughly glued to his own bones and muscles and ligaments, stuck down but always peeling away at the edges. On others it’s more like he’s not in his body at all, he’s watching himself whilst existing in a place just above, or just to the side, but he can never quite work it out.

He feels like his head is empty and slow; thoughts never there when he needs, words never on his tongue when he calls for them, but also like if someone were to cut his brain open everything would rush out in a horrible tangled mess of _too much_ that can’t be contained, like a tube of toothpaste split open and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

He wakes up without knowing how he’s going to feel, whether he’s going to be Luke or someone that’s not quite Luke, someone reaching out, grasping, desperate, but not Luke at all. He’s strung, stretched, pulled impossibly taut, like one wrong move and he’ll snap and splinter into thousands of messy and sad fragments that will be impossible to piece back together, but he also feels like he doesn’t know what that move might be, perpetually on the precipice of something or nothing at all.

He blinks his eyes open and looks across the table to find Ashton looking at him quietly, sipping his own drink and ignoring the rest of their table in favour of watching Luke. He’s noticed this more and more recently, his eyes automatically searching for Ashton’s, his body imperceptibly moving to find the spaces near him whether they’re in Ashton’s house or out of it. The interesting thing about it is that everytime he looks to meet Ashton’s eyes, the other man is already looking back. Luke’s never sure what the look is in his eyes, can’t pinpoint if it's curiosity or pity or worry or something else entirely, he’s just there, looking back at him, ever present in a way that nothing else in Luke’s life seems to be.

Another drop of condensation drips off Luke’s wrist, falling into the damp patch that’s spreading over his thigh, lights continue to flash at the edge of his hazy vision and he stays looking at Ashton, because if Ashton’s looking at him then that means that he’s here, that he’s a person, that he’s maybe not Luke just yet but the feeling that one day he might get to be again.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](kaleidoscopeminds.tumblr.com)


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